


here in a modern time

by mixtapestar



Series: Queliot Week 2020 [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Tactile Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: Queliot Week Day 4: "It was real, this is real."Eliot comes home to find Quentin spiraling about their time at the mosaic, then does what he can to reassure him.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Queliot Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017429
Comments: 16
Kudos: 74





	here in a modern time

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _the song_ \- "Evolve" by Phoria.
> 
> Thank you Rubi for beta reading! <3

When Eliot gets home, he immediately collapses on the couch. He can see the light on from their room, and half wishes he'd gone that far to collapse near Quentin, but there's no way he's moving now. "Ugh," he calls out, "I'm exhausted. This spell that Kady's got me working on with the hedges is _not_ going well." He hears rustling, the creak of the bed, and thinks Quentin is probably heading his way. "Don't get me wrong, I still want to help them get it right, but it's excruciating working with people who learned magic in such a different way."

The light flips off, and Quentin comes stumbling out of the room, his hair a mess. "Um, hi," Quentin says.

Eliot sits up straighter at the sight of him. "Q? What's wrong? You look whiter than a Hollywood movie."

Quentin shrugs as he moves into the living room. He doesn't bother sitting next to Eliot, instead straddling him on the couch, tilting up his chin to bring their lips together.

Eliot's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and Quentin's kiss is soothing after the frustrating day he's had. But when Quentin quickly goes deeper, pulling at his shirt desperately and whining, Eliot reaches out to still his hands. "Hey," he says softly, concerned. "What's up, baby?"

"Just want you," Quentin says, stubbornly shaking Eliot off and going back to trying to remove his shirt.

"I want you too, Q, I always do, but something tells me… maybe you're not in the right mental state for this?" Quentin's face scrunches up, no tears falling, but the same sentiment is there. "Talk to me, c'mon. It's me, I'm here."

"You're here," Quentin repeats, gripping at Eliot's shoulders. He stares into Eliot's eyes intensely. "You are."

Eliot nods. He hates when he doesn't know what to say, in these situations. There has to be something he can say to reassure Quentin, but he doesn't know what it is. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises.

Quentin leans forward until their foreheads are touching. His eyes slip shut, and his expression eases, which makes Eliot feel a bit better. He reaches out to hold Quentin's waist in his hands, and that seems to help even more. Quentin takes a few deep breaths, counting under his breath, and Eliot does his best to stay still and see if Quentin will share anything.

"I'm having—" a short, hysterical laugh, "—a really bad day. Capital-B Bad."

When more details are not forthcoming, Eliot asks, "Did something happen?"

"I wish. Wait, no, _god_ —" Quentin sits up and rubs at his temple, making a frustrated noise. "Obviously I don't _wish_ something bad happened, what the fuck? I'm sorry, I—"

"Hey, it's okay. Breathe," Eliot says, running his hands up and down Quentin's sides.

So Quentin does, taking in and releasing more deep breaths. "Nothing happened. I only said _I wish_ because things like this would be so much easier to deal with if there was a _source_."

Eliot nods. They've been here before. Quentin has had no shortage of Bad Days; hell, Eliot's had his own fair share, over the years. They never get any easier, but Eliot knows, at least, that the most important thing is to just be here. "Would it help if you could blame Todd?"

That earns him a laugh, if a small one. "Why Todd?"

Eliot shrugs. "He's who I blame, when something goes wrong. He's been helping Kady some too, so he's around for the blaming."

Quentin sighs and moves off of Eliot's lap to sit next to him. Eliot wastes no time gathering him in his arms, pulling him up against his chest so that they can breathe together. He can feel Quentin relax minimally as they sit like that in silence for a while.

"So, um, the mosaic?" Quentin finally asks, without explanation. His voice breaks the tiniest bit on the 'a' in mosaic, but Eliot catches it.

"Yeah? Some of the best years of my life? What about it?"

Quentin inhales sharply. "It… so it happened?"

"What do you mean?" Eliot asks carefully. "Of course it happened."

"I just—I mean, I was reading up on memory charms, for Julia's project with the Library, and like—I started thinking, what if it wasn't real? What if we had our memories fucked with, and those years didn't happen, and we were only together because we _thought_ it all happened, and eventually we'd figure out it was all a lie, and you'd realize what a huge mistake you'd made—"

"Whoa, okay. You can stop there. _Q_. That's not going to happen," he says firmly, holding him tight. "First of all, it was real. _This_ is real. Both are true. But even if we were wrong, if those years were some… grand delusion, or something, it wouldn't change how I feel about you."

"No?" Quentin asks in the smallest possible voice.

" _Never_ ," Eliot says.

"Magic can do some pretty powerful things, though. You might just _think_ you feel that way."

"I think I feel that way and I do feel that way, that's how it works," Eliot rationalizes. "I know where you're coming from. I've seen some of those memory spells. They're epic. But they also tend to go wrong, and they don't stand up to too much scrutiny even if they go right. Just questioning this pretty much means our memories are fine."

Quentin shifts in his grip, turning until they can make eye contact. Eliot cups his jaw, letting himself feel the love and devotion he has for this man and hoping it comes across in his expression. Quentin shudders and presses forward, kissing him again.

This time, Eliot doesn't put a stop to it as Quentin licks into his mouth, shifting around further and pulling his clothes loose. "Can I?" Quentin eventually asks, breaking their kiss once Eliot's final shirt button is undone.

"Go ahead," Eliot says, and Quentin pushes his shirt down over his shoulders.

"Can we—? I know you're exhausted; I can do most of the work." Quentin says, peppering kisses against his jaw. "I just need to feel you."

"In no universe will I let you do 'most of the work,'" Eliot says, sliding Quentin's shirt over his head. "Tell me what you want. What would feel best right now?"

"Anything? Everything? I don't think it matters, so much, I just want to know this is real."

Eliot nods, his heart racing. He has to assure himself he probably won't fuck this up. Making Quentin _feel him_ is what he does best. "I'm gonna get you ready right here, okay? And then we'll move to the bed."

Quentin whines, already flushed with arousal, and pushes against his hip. Eliot flicks his wrist to close the blinds fully, and gets a sharp reminder that his energy levels—magical and otherwise—are running low.

He kisses Quentin languidly, palming over his ass as they rock together. "Get naked for me, okay?" he asks, shifting Quentin off of him. "I'm gonna go get the good lube."

He spots it on the shelf as soon as he walks into their room, and only stops from summoning it to his hand because he'll need the last of his energy to fuck Quentin into the mattress. He kicks off his pants and briefs and leaves them on the floor, hurrying back to Quentin.

He finds him standing in front of their couch, sweatpants pooled around his ankles, one hand pulling at his lip nervously. "Q? You still with me?"

Quentin looks relieved to see him there, and the tension in his shoulders melts away when Eliot pulls him back into his arms.

"I'm sorry," Eliot murmurs, sliding his hands over Quentin's back. "I shouldn't have left you here."

"It's not your fault. I'm a mess," Quentin says, clinging to him.

They stand like that for a while, Eliot holding him close and murmuring to him soothingly until he seems to calm down. "C'mon. I changed my mind, let's go ahead and get comfortable in our room."

"You're still gonna fuck me, right?" Quentin says, but he doesn't resist when Eliot guides them back toward the bedroom.

Eliot tries to hide his relief that some of Quentin's brattiness is back already. He pauses when they reach the foot of their bed to fit their bodies together again. His hands move down Quentin's back until they slide over the curve of his ass, and he belatedly answers, "I'm gonna make you _feel me_."

" _Yes_ ," Quentin mutters like a prayer as they move together, cocks rubbing up against hips.

"Spread out on your stomach for me," Eliot instructs, and Quentin scrambles to comply. Eliot rests a hand on his ankle as soon as possible, letting Quentin know that he's still here.

As he moves his way up the bed, he slides his hands over the length of Quentin's body, saying, "You know, I used to think about this, long before the mosaic. What your body would look like under those dorky clothes, what it would feel like. How it would respond to me," he adds, spreading Quentin's cheeks and watching him shudder. He works his fingers in the familiar gestures of the cleaning and protection spells, then reaches for the lube.

"I thought about you too," Quentin admits, turning his head so that his cheek is pressed against the sheets. "No way I would've done anything about it back then, but still. There's some alternate universe out there where one of us made a move and we got together my first year."

"I'd rather not fuck with alternate timelines, given our history," Eliot says, pushing a slicked finger inside, slowly but surely, up to the second knuckle. "The important thing is that I have you now."

"Fuck yeah you do," Quentin says breathily, his hips shifting a little. "I can take two. I wanna feel the stretch."

Eliot's right there with him, prepared to pull out one finger and come back with two. Quentin moans and rocks back more deliberately onto his fingers. The way he's responding, so open and wanton, is cutting through Eliot's fears and making his cock thicken as it fills, suddenly desperate to be inside Quentin.

He smooths his other hand over Quentin's back, fucking into him with his fingers until he's begging for more. Once Eliot's got three fingers nestled firmly inside, he presses down between Quentin's shoulder blades. As he slides his fingers back out, he eases the pressure against Quentin's back, then moves back in on both sides, alternating a steady rhythm that has Quentin humming in pleasure.

"You like that?"

"'S'nice," Quentin says, completely pliant against the bedsheets, a smile showing on the side of his face Eliot can see. "Better with you inside me, though."

Eliot chuckles. "Patience, baby. I'm getting there."

When he finally moves back enough to get himself ready, he takes a second to breathe, telling himself he's already made Quentin feel better, so the rest is just extra. And the way Quentin is practically begging for him doesn't hurt either. Satisfied, he lifts up Quentin's hips a bit and nudges his cock against his entrance. "I know you can't see me, but you _are_ going to _feel_ me, I promise."

"I trust you."

He eases inside with practiced patience, feeling Quentin relax and adjust before he moves in that much further, and waits again.

"Oh god, you're in all the way, aren't you?" Quentin asks the moment Eliot sinks in to the root. " _Fuck_ , it feels so good like this."

"Wait for it," Eliot says, smiling, as he stretches out over Quentin's body, holding himself up with his arms taut on either side of Quentin's shoulders. He pulls out slowly, the sweet drag of it setting his senses on fire, then snaps his hips back in, practicing the move a few times to Quentin's moaned approval. Feeling confident, he lowers his body and wraps one arm completely around Quentin's shoulders, molding his chest to Quentin's back and using his other arm for leverage. Like this, they move together with every thrust, Quentin completely enveloped in him.

" _Eliot_ , oh my god, you— _fuck_ —this is _so_ —I fuckin'— _love you_ , god—"

"I'm here, I'm real," Eliot murmurs into his ear, his thrusts picking up speed as Quentin falls more and more incoherent. He wants to come, but more than that he wants Quentin to come, to feel completely surrounded and loved. So with a deep breath, Eliot focuses and uses the last of his reserve of magical energy for the day, creating a telekinetic field that lets him _feel_ every inch of Quentin's hard cock, caress it and stroke it as if he were using his hands.

"Oh holy _fuck_ ," Quentin shouts, "are you—? _Fuck_ , you _are_ —god, that's so hot. Keep doing that—I'm so close—"

It's overwhelming, the feel of Quentin clenching down on his cock while he uses his mind to clench down on Quentin, the two sensations on a relay that pushes him over the edge almost without warning. He cries out into Quentin's shoulder as his cock spills inside him, and Quentin follows him almost immediately, writhing in Eliot's hold.

He keeps moving until he almost can't hold himself up anymore, then pulls out before letting his weight drop onto Quentin. "I think—can you do the cleaning spell?" Eliot mutters, reaching up to push the sweaty hair off his forehead. "I'm pretty sure I don't have a single ounce of magic left in me today."

"Yeah, in a minute," Quentin says, and Eliot smiles against his back.

"You like me weighing you down?" Quentin shrugs, the movement shifting Eliot just barely. Eliot presses a kiss against his heated skin and closes his eyes, noticing the subtle rise and fall of every breath Quentin takes.

"Okay, wet spot getting uncomfortable now," Quentin says, and Eliot rolls off of him with a laugh. One quick tut from Quentin later, the bed and their bodies are much cleaner, though Eliot can still feel the sweat in his hair and the back of his neck. He likes that the spell doesn't remove _all_ evidence, even if it's subtle.

Quentin shifts over to kiss him in that lazy, boneless way he has after he's been well-fucked. Eliot languishes in it for a while, until Quentin breaks the kiss to fall back against the pillows. With a smile, Eliot looks over at him and asks the question he hopes he knows the answer to. "So, did that help?"

"God," Quentin says, laughing and rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. "I don't think I've ever felt anything more real in my _life_. _Yes_ , it helped." He presses a kiss to the underside of Eliot's jaw, and Eliot melts inside. "Seriously, you're amazing. I don't know how you do it."

"Years of practice," Eliot quips, if only to keep from cracking open and pouring out all of his feelings onto their bed. He counts a careful ten in his head before he trusts himself to say, "I love you, Q. If nothing else, you can believe in that."

Quentin's expression is one of unadulterated glee, so far removed from how he looked when Eliot got home that Eliot feels like he's flying. "I know. I do. And I love you, too."

"Good. I'm glad that's settled, because I'm pretty sure I need to pass out immediately."

"Oh! Right, _god_ —that _magic_ —we _have_ to talk about that sometime. But yes, you should definitely sleep."

And so, with Quentin's blessing, he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! <3 I'm also on tumblr as [mixtapestar](http://mixtapestar.tumblr.com)!


End file.
